


Reunion

by laEsmeralda



Series: Linnod [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 05:33:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following Frodo's departure from Middle Earth, a distraught Legolas has disappeared from Minas Tirith (as described in <i>Arwen's Book of Secrets: Frodo's Letter</i>, and from Legolas' perspective in <i>The Path of Sun and Moon</i>). He returns several months later, and this is the story of his reappearance, told from three alternating perspectives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

I see the cloud of dust and hear Arod's whinny from miles away. Miravin snarls and I must pause and explain to her this first test of her ability to live among those she might otherwise hunt. The tiger is fully sentient and comprehends me well though her language is not spoken. I pause long enough to scratch behind her silver and black ears. 

We resume our run, as the time to reunion is already too long. My heart is thrumming, for I can detect in the cadence of Arod's step that he bears Gimli with him.

When Arod closes on us, he slows only enough to allow himself to slide to a stop, and stands quivering. I lay a hand on his nose, and grasp Gimli's leg with the other.

"Elf."

"Dwarf." 

We hold each other's eyes for a long moment. Then, he looks me over skeptically. "You look the worse for wear, my friend."

"Indeed. Though I am better now." I see that he is tied to Arod, and my heart breaks. I stroke down Arod's neck until I reach the saddle, and the steed snorts in pleasure. I talk to him as I work the knots, feeling Arwen's touch in them. Arod takes a mouthful of my shirt and holds it, making Gimli laugh. I try to hide my tears, and a rough hand catches the side of my face.

"Nay, let them show. There will be no more hiding between us, I trust," he says. 

I look up and his eyes are streaming. "And no more running," I reply, embracing him around his waist. He shushes me, patting me on the head, but he does not push me away or make a joke. He is warm and hearty but I know that his sorrow has been deep. I pull back, leaving a hand on his leg. "I believe you saved my life."

He raises a truly surprised brow. "I have not left Minas Tirith."

"Indeed, I understand that you barely left Arod's stable. His is another life for which I must thank you."

He nods, accepting that deed as his own. "Though I could not sing to him as Arwen did, giving him hope."

"Do not change the subject, Gimli. Miravin here would not have known of my situation, nor would my Master have let her come to my aid, had word not reached him through your efforts. I was nearly beyond helping myself." He pats my head again. "When we are in more comfortable surroundings, I will tell the tale to you, and you alone for now, as you had a hand in it."

"The world is strange," Gimli replies, gazing down into the tiger's silver eyes. Then, after a time, "She does not make Arod nervous." 

"Perhaps I should introduce them properly. Miravin, this is my friend, Arod." The huge beast paces until she is nose to nose with the horse, though not as tall. "Arod, this is Miravin. She understands that you are not for eating." There is an answering whicker, very much like a chuckle.

"We had best tell the stewards to lay in extra meat if she is to accompany us home," Gimli grins, "Mistress, they can hardly keep up with me!" Her tongue lolls at his joke. 

"I will take her to Ithilien at the earliest opportunity, but I could not send her there alone. It would be too much of a risk to her."

"Help me down, would you? I've been in this saddle for two hours, and if I don't relieve myself...." Arod startles with a snort, and I laugh, reaching to help Gimli down. For a few moments, he is eye to eye with the tiger.

"You're a beauty," Gimli whistles. She snarls softly in response.

"She is sensitive about her appearance; her mate was killed for his pelt. By elves no less." 

Gimli shakes his head. "Greed belongs to no one people alone, Miravin. I am sorry for your loss." At that, she lies down before him, instantly relaxed as only a cat can be, thus showing him her acceptance of his words. "Well then, off with myself a few paces," he says.

I check Arod's cinch and blanket, noting that Gimli rode without a bridle or reins, trusting the horse entirely.

"I think we should arrive at night," Gimli calls, as he walks back. "The town's abuzz with the news of your return."

"I would have my private reunions first. I have much atoning to do, much explaining."

Gimli laughs as he reaches my side. "You had best reimagine the meeting. I do not think there will be much talking." He elbows me.

"Gimli!"

"Nay, let me speak," he says, still chuckling. "It is so like you to put the most serious cast on a situation. Of course, they are hurt, but the body forgives a slight faster so that the heart may be reminded why it must follow."

It is my turn to laugh, "Why, I did not know you were a sage of love."

"I have been reading, Legolas. Books upon books. There has been naught else to do in the stables." He smiles at me. "I understand that even a simple touch between friends helps to mend a rift. First, I could not wait to see you. Then, putting eyes on you and knowing you were safe, I felt a spark of anger against you for leaving me behind, for frightening me so. But when you laid your hand on my leg, you were my dearest friend again, and I cannot be angry. I love you too much." 

I am speechless. Gimli has never spoken of loving me though I have known it beyond doubt. I kneel before him. "Faithful friend, I love you as well. I am sorry I have not said it before."

"Not in words, but you have said it." He slaps my shoulder with glee. "See? And this is without any heat between us. I have given you fair warning for your return."

"You surprise me."

"I have learned to speak to you in my worry and grief. I have done it every day in your absence, had entire conversations with you. Does my frankness trouble you?"

"No, it is a great relief."

"Aragorn has been so short with everyone, though they understand it to be from loss of his friend, advisor, and sword-mate. He has ridden nearly every day to the highest point to look for you." Gimli looks me over again and chortles; I think he is having altogether too much fun at my expense. "I hope you are stronger than you look, you willow-twig, or he may well kill you with his passion."

We take our time, riding back slowly, stopping for water and to allow Arod to graze. Gimli rides behind me once again, and I am reminded of his care for me in returning from the Shire.

Gimli and Miravin stop outside the stable door, and Gimli plants himself on a nearby bench. Arwen is waiting inside, holding Arod's stall open. 

When I kiss her, I feel reflected through her my family extending far back in time, and somehow also forward, a strange sensation. There is something loosed in Arwen that she always keeps quiet. The fear she has kept tightly coiled these months screams through me as it leaves her at last. Were she conscious beyond the force of her emotion, the ferocity of my grip would hurt her, but I do not relent. 

I have wondered if, upon my return, the safety between us would be gone, whether feeling her in my arms would drive me to pleasure after all that has happened. The sensation of her is there, her tall body strong, and soft, and warm against me. What I do feel is our desperation and love, and all is well. After a long, long kiss, I hold her fast in my arms, pressing her head to my shoulder, until I can hear his boots upon the flags. She pushes me then, hard toward the door which crashes open.

If I had ever doubted, in all of Aragorn's restraint and ambivalence, whether he truly loved me, his face banishes all such thoughts in this moment. I am in his arms before he can move from the doorway; I do not make him come to me. The force of his embrace lifts me off my feet and I forget that I am dusty from the fast travel home and that I would rather have come to him in better form.

I hold his head in my hands, his face so close we exchange breath. "Aragorn," I say, "hear me when I say this, for it is long overdue. I love you." He is surprised for a moment by my fervor. "It is not that I have failed to say these words to you over and over. But until now, I have held back, afraid that you would put me aside." 

Arwen has gone out the stable door, and shut it firmly behind her, turning the bar with the outside handle. I can sense that it is difficult for her to leave us, but for the moment, I am focused on Aragorn alone. 

I want to stop talking, to plunder him, but these things must be spoken. "The truth is that you will hurt me, many times in small ways before we part, and that parting, however it occurs, will cause me untold suffering as well. This is the price of love. Know that I choose it in order to be with you now, to learn every nuance of your mind and body."

I kiss him, still gripping his head between my hands, and he groans from a place I remember from our time in Lorien, that I have not known since. I realize that for too long, I have let him lead, or have forced him to lead, in order that I might know each time that he truly wanted me.

"We are in a barn, Aragorn," I say, "not the royal chambers. How does this sit with you?" 

His gaze is fierce and hungry in response. He says nothing. He does not need to. 

With a swift motion, I have ripped his shirt apart and am running my hand along his ribs. 

"Legolas," he breathes, "Legolas." There are tears in his eyes.

"Save your breath, you will need it soon," I say. I brace him against the wall with my shoulder and kick his feet apart, making room for my thigh to press tightly against him. He is full and stiff against me. He moans again, and I shift a little so that he may feel me as well, aching for him as I have been since the sound of his footsteps. "We will have years to talk, my love, years." Again, our mouths meet, and the rush of sensation--his skin and beard and flavor and softness, softness in the man of toughness--is intoxicating.

A harness hangs on the wall above us. I catch the trailing reins and one of his wrists, bringing them together with his other hand in mine, above his head. I slip the reins through his palms. "Hold these, and do not let go." 

He grips the broad leather straps, his shoulders flexing as they take some of his weight. His rent shirt hangs open and I run my fingers all over his torso, fluttering them against his flesh. "Aragorn, you are mine," I croon next to his ear. 

"Yes," he replies, without hesitation. 

"Though Arwen and I share you, you are wholly hers," I move back so that I may better see his face, "and you are wholly mine." 

His eyes are as unguarded as I have ever seen them, and past the lust, I read pain, fear eased, and great love. "Yes." 

"Aragorn," I savor his name, "Despite our many couplings, I have not properly claimed you since our first night." I pull the laces completely out of his leggings and toss the strings away, then strip the fabric down over his hips. When the garment reaches his boots, I bend to make him entirely naked. Even his foot in my hand is a stirring touch. "And there is a way I have not yet touched you."

"I said to you then 'do what you will,' and I was not disappointed," he says huskily, "I say it to you again now."

For tonight, I do not care that he is King, or that others might see or hear us. His life is too short, and so is my patience. I stay where I am, and put my hands to his muscled hips, running a thumb along the curved channel that traces from his waist to his groin. His head falls back against the rough barn wall. He is so aroused that I know he fears to spend himself too fast.

Again, I use his name, it is like a spell upon us both. "Aragorn, you should know that Gimli guards us right now, outside this door." This visibly affects him as he struggles with the fact. "It is not the first time." He is cooling as he thinks on it. "It is late, no one in the household will wander here. Arwen has already sent the stable hand to another bed. But Gimli will not leave as long as your honor requires protecting. If you wish not to be heard, let us stop and retire to your chambers." 

His legs tremble. "He has guarded us before." It is a statement, a realization, not a question.

"He has known ever since Lorien, though I never told him. Of course, he has seen to our privacy thereafter. And he will never speak of it except to me."

"But he hears." He swallows heavily.

I chuckle. "There is rarely anything to hear, my warrior, you are so restrained."

"As are you, swallowing your song."

"Not tonight." I look up at him, letting him see how blue my eyes are for him. "Not tonight." I caress his flesh, bringing him back to readiness. 

"Then, have me here," he rasps, "I have had one sight of you in six months, and you would not let me touch you, not even to comfort you. I would not postpone this for the number of paces to my bed."

I take him in my mouth, savoring his taste and heat. His slight moisture dissolves on my tongue as I swirl it over him. He writhes against the wall, gasping.  
*******

"Legolas." I cannot stop saying his name. I no longer care that our stalwart friend might hear us. This is the Legolas I most remember, the one who has been distant from me since somewhere on the road to Ithilien. I did that, I created that rift, Arwen was right. The bloodshed took its toll on him, and I chose for that time to deny my own part in his sadness, but his withdrawal from me was my doing. I do not know what has brought him back, but I am grateful.

He is pulling me into him through his masterful touch, taking my spirit into his embrace as he first did three years ago. I will go with him, wherever he takes me.

Legolas releases me and stands, leaving me aching. He is so thin, so fragile looking, that I know wherever he has been was as difficult as he could possibly make it. But his eyes are a white blue of arousal that his calm manner cannot conceal. He is still clothed, though his clothing is so thin and tattered as to give poor cover. I let my eyes fall to the stout ridge that shows through his breeches. A dirt-streaked hand follows my gaze, and he strokes its length once.

"Legolas," I say with a hoarse voice, "I want that. Soon."

"You shall have it. I have owed you a debt ever since the meadow." He walks to the ledge by Arod's stall and selects a bottle of liniment. His grace surpasses that which I remembered; he is fluid and elegant, whether moving swiftly or languidly. He paces back to me, pulling his shirt over his head. I see new scars, numerous scratches and deep cuts, still tinged with red, and his ribs show through his thinned flesh. He wears no shoes or boots, and his feet carry the marks of naked travel. I bite my tongue. This is not the time for reprimands.

There is a new smell on him, as he closes in again, and I cannot help my brow from wrinkling in curiosity. 

He grins. "The tiger. You will meet her later. Is it unpleasant to you?"

"No," I reassure him, although my surprise has increased, "and it would matter not if it were. Gods, Legolas, do not leave me standing here alone."

"Oh, no," he breathes, "I would not." He pulls off his torn breeches unceremoniously. At the sight of his cock, rigid and darkening with blood, my own quivers. I raise my eyes again, taking him all in as I have longed to do these months. This beautiful form, standing before me, I should know it better than I do. With a start, I realize that I have not truly explored him, and the thought of properly doing so nearly makes me come.

"I feel what you are thinking," he says, stepping close so that our chests graze one another, "our link is already made." Still, he puts no hand on me. "Shall we share with Arwen?" he says, his vibrant voice reaching in and touching the back of my throat, "She must be feeling so alone, your generous wife."

I nod, but have not the words to answer, nor the power to connect us, yet I feel her mind in a rush when he does it. Then, I hear the chink of the glass stopper being removed, and his hands brush me inadvertently, maddeningly, as he smoothes the contents on himself. The smell is medicinal, comprised of peppermint and aromatics. It mingles with dust and fresh green and the pelt of a predator.

His nose brushes against mine, but he does not kiss me. My heart is pounding and I wait, perfectly still.

When I feel his hand on my balls, I cannot help but close my eyes with a groan. He caresses a few times in a circular motion that makes my head spin, then holds them aside. My eyes fly open, as his cock is pressing between my legs, seeking a way into me. He has not done this with me before, and I tense without intending to.

Legolas pauses, his lips hovering an inch from mine. "I will stop, if you wish, there are other pleasures for us, as we well know." 

He understands my history and preferences, and I his, yet I took him in the field one day without so much as a pause. Rather than answer him, I raise one thigh. He hooks it over his arm.

His eyes are locked on mine as he enters, sliding smoothly into me in a single, extended movement. I will not cry out, though it has been many, many years since anyone has touched me this way, and he is not small. Finally, I do let myself gasp his name again.

"Aragorn," he says hotly in response, holding very still, "feel my pleasure, open to it, and the pain will diminish." I breathe with our connection, breathe with him, and I can feel instead of discomfort a sweet pressure and his building rapture, though he does not move within me. I grip the leather above me hard as he leans next to my ear. His hands settle on my hips. They are still wet with liniment, and the skin beneath them glows warmly in response. I realize that he has chosen to lessen his pleasure to lessen my pain.

"The pleasure is not greatly lessened," he says, smiling a beautiful, open smile, the one I have craved for so long. "Our relationship is reciprocal, as the connection we make when we love has shown us. There is irony in how we have treated it. You wish for me to surrender to you, yet you do not release yourself to me. I wish for you to trust me to go on loving you, yet I do not trust you to continue loving me. What is to be done?"

He withdraws from me a little and despite the growing pleasure I feel, the movement causes me to cry out. He reaches down and caresses first one place, then another, and in spite of my tension, I relax with his touch.

"Forgive me, Aragorn," he says into my ear, "for leaving without telling you, for making you afraid for me." With those words, he thrusts deeply into me.

My reply is inarticulate as a first jolt of ecstasy follows his movement. I catch my breath as he begins to withdraw again. "There is naught to forgive." My voice is almost not my own, it has a foreign sound, something quivering that would shame me were I not with Legolas.

He stops. His breath teases my ear, his sentences grow shorter. "Yes, there is. I hurt you when I left. And you were angry." 

I do not wish to say these things. 

"Tell me the truth," he insists, "you must say it."

"Yes," I grit out, "you did. I have been angry every day." 

"Then, allow me to try this again." His grip tightens on my hips. "For leaving without word, for causing you pain, Aragorn, please, forgive me." He thrusts again.

He is a liquid heat in me now and the power of holding him is heady. "I forgive you." I can barely speak, but I do.

He pulls back, nuzzling my neck. "Forgive me, Aragorn," he gasps with another massive thrust, "for closing my heart to you."

With white lights bursting behind my eyes, I moan, "I forgive you," and I meet his thrust with all my strength.

He groans in response, his first delicious sound of pleasure. His lips and teeth are on my ear now, and he speaks the next words through his soft bite. "My love, Aragorn." He is sliding from me again. "For resenting the demands of your position, which I well knew when we began, please..." 

I am waiting, suspended, holding my breath, anticipating the thrust, and when it happens, I shout, "I forgive you!" without awaiting his words of request. Releasing the harness and pushing against his shoulders, I tumble him to the hay beneath us, crushing the wind from us both. 

He exclaims with the surprise of being driven into me so hard. I am beyond any pain now, welcoming his warrior's strength with enthusiasm. Others have vanquished their bloodlust in my body, and for that, I have never craved even Legolas to whom I would give any pleasure I could. I am stunned at what I have foregone. At this moment, I have the sense of joy that Arwen must, to hold a lover close within. And she does not have this strange place inside that screams for his movement to torture it.

I grip his thighs tightly between my calves. "As you have asked, I have forgiven you, for not being perfect, though you very nearly are. What shall be done for my many transgressions against you?" His eyes, silver now, from another world, another time, promise me something I cannot read. 

I long to kiss him for hours, and I vow to myself that I will take him to bed and feign the first illness of my kingship in order to keep his lips on mine, with our bodies entwined, until I have drunk my fill. I can see that the image has passed to him, and from far away, I feel Arwen lose herself with it. I smile, for she has never before been ahead of us in our loving. The wash of her pleasure reaches back to us, and Legolas gasps with it, his hips lifting harder to mine.

"Have I ever told you, Legolas, that you have a magnificent cock?" He shudders beneath me and within me. 

"Never," he murmurs. His nipples are tightened into hard points that will love the heat of my mouth. Another time. I slide my other hand from his shoulder and wet my thumb to rub around and around one of them. Despite bearing my full weight, he arches up off the floor, and I think of the great strength in his rounded flanks and his slender back.

"Ah, never in words, and I should have put words to the task long ago. But my lips and hands endeavored to tell you what I could not say." I rock against him and stroke his chest at the same time, driving him in and out of me, amazed that now I am taking him easily, each thrust a joy for both of us.

He begins to make noises I have never heard him make, something pleading and begging in his voice at the edges of himself, beyond the conscious lover. I realize that Frodo has heard these noises, has evoked them over and over again. This knowledge does not anger me, or hurt me, for at once I understand that abandon knows its match, and until now, I have received more than I have given in this regard.

The silver hair is woven into the straw, his head tosses with my movements, but his eyes remain open. I continue, wondering how I have not yet come all over him. I summon the most tender voice I have. "Legolas, my friend, my warrior, my lover, my love, I cherish you."

This undoes him at last, and a song such as I have never heard from him bursts forth. It is difficult in such passion to hear each word, and there are more sounds than words this time, but I comprehend much. 

He has made peace with a wounded part of himself. There are thanks to the Valar, and to Maiar that I have not heard named in my studies. He thanks Frodo for giving us the time that is left. He sings to his family, to Arwen and Galadriel, Gandalf and Gimli, Arod and Miravin, Frodo and me, all of us for loving him, for making an immortal life worthwhile. He does not think himself unworthy, but he marvels at the love.  
*******

I am certain I have hurt Aragorn beyond bearing with the force of my loving. He pins my shoulders to the floor as I fight for breath. It seems I am still filling him with pulses of fluid, though this should have long ceased by now. 

I have sung secrets I did not intend, but it is meet to have said them to him. When I open my eyes, there are trails of drying tears on his cheeks mingled with the dust of the stable, and I know he has understood. I reach for his face and he leans to place his cheek in my palm.

His hardness juts out dark and unsatisfied, and I am still solid within him, as if there has been no release. I feel my smile spread. "Aragorn, I intended something different."

Usually inscrutable, his face is open and soft. "I do not know how I will look upon you tomorrow without everyone in Gondor seeing how I feel."

"We will find a way to protect the kingdom, as we must. You need not close yourself to me for that. I will help you."

He lies down fully against me, his movement ginger until his hands brace on the floor next to my head. His lips move on mine, and I think my heart will explode. My hands are on his neck and in his hair, running across his shoulders. As his tongue slips under mine, a jolt of pleasure causes me to press up into him.

"Mmmph," he grunts into my mouth, and I will wait no longer to please him. 

My movement is so fast in rolling us over that he has no time to think or feel pain. With my mouth continuously moving on his, his slick hardness trapped between us, I begin fucking him in a slow rhythm with sure knowledge of where to strike hardest. His muscles are tense, his fingers digging into my rear as he feels the movement there too. 

"Aragorn, is this right?" I know the answer, but I would have him say it.

His eyes are on me, but far away. "Yes," he says softly, "Gods, you are so strong."

"I have not touched myself on the journey back to you." It is the truth. I do not tell him of the rest. I do not break the rhythm. "I should be strong for you."

He moans at that. "I cannot say the same. For all my fear, I could not help thinking of you, saying your name as I held my cock." 

This is a powerful inducement to spend myself, but I do not. "Say it now, Aragorn." 

"Legolas," he says, savoring the sound. He is still almost whispering. I thrust harder. "Ah! Legolas," he says louder.

"Yes, my love, I am here with you." There is a humming in my head, and I know this song will be music without words.

"Harder," Aragorn commands, and I comply. "Legolas!" he bellows. With me pressed within him, the spurts of his semen are so hard as to escape the sweaty seal of our bellies and chests. He is groaning and cursing and his lack of restraint rips away my last bit of control. This time, it is pure pleasure for me, no guilt or remorse, nothing but joy.  
*******

They astonish me. In truth, without resentment, I wonder at such moments that I have a place with Aragorn. I do not doubt his love, or his desire, but that he could want or need both of us with such passion as Legolas has to give is amazing.

I am lying on our bed, warmed and tortured and spent before they have truly begun. I curl around one of the pillows and feel the connection still there among us as they continue. Something has shifted in our elf, and he is allowing Aragorn the greater bond between them that my husband has desired for so long.

My thoughts shift to Gimli, standing watch outside the stable. What a strange task he has set himself, and I laugh to think on his unshakeable dignity in the face of such a tumult as his ears must withstand tonight. That he warily waits with a tiger several times his size requires trust that only he could have.

They are quiet now, though, and I lose my sense of them. I am so happy to see Legolas safe. For the first time in months, I could fall asleep in peace. Instead, I rise and seek the night steward, calling for food to be brought and for the boiler to be lit under the private bath. I go to the bathing chamber, and select the finest soaps and oils, laying them out next to the large copper tub. I light additional lamps, humming to myself.

While the water heats, I take a platter to Gimli's room, then go to Legolas' chamber and choose the softest clothing he has. I could feel through his rags that he is thinner than I have ever known him to be. He had cuts on his face that have healed well, but I imagine they are not the only ones. I want him to have comfort and luxury and healing.

I have been back in our rooms for perhaps a quarter hour, arranging the food, when I hear them coming. Legolas speaks briefly with the lone guard, Aratos, who is overjoyed to see him. Ten elves remain in our household. Without being told, they understand the way of things, and they are fiercely loyal.

My heart is pounding when they enter the room, as if I have not seen him yet. His smile upon seeing me is sunshine in the dark. Aragorn seems taller and straighter than he has been of late, his hand resting easily on Legolas' shoulder. His eyes lock with mine as if to reassure me of his love, but it is not necessary.

"Arwen," Legolas says, the music of his voice touching, as always. He crosses to me, and lays his hands on my hair, his forehead against mine. "Thank you."

"You are welcome, my friend, most welcome." He presses his lips to mine, briefly, and the newly intermingled scents of him and of Aragorn make me smile. I had not realized the absence of that until now.

"What is your wish, now," I ask him, "to sleep straight away, to eat?"

"Mmm," he muses, "to eat, and to bathe, but I do not wish to disturb anyone this late."

Aragorn grins. "I think that Arwen has seen to the disturbing already." He gestures to the tray of food and draws a cushioned chair near. 

"Forgive me, my friends, but this will take all my attention for a short time." His hunger is unmasked. I have chosen carefully to tempt him and to ease him gently into such fare, as I could see that he has eaten simply, if at all, for some time.

Aragorn takes my hand and walks to the bathing chamber. He strips off his clothing and fills a bucket from the tap. I help him as he stands over the drain and upends the bucket, sluicing the water all along his brown skin. I rub my hands over him, brushing off bits of straw, feeling the slickness of his belly and knowing what has spilled there. My hand smoothes the curve of his back to his muscled backside, and he flinches a little.

"Shh, I will not hurt you." I go then to the cabinet and find a balm for him. "Try this." 

He takes it and smiles back at me sheepishly as I move to refill the bucket. "Legolas had no balm after the meadow, and I was not gentle. Remind me to apologize to him."

"There is no need." His voice comes from the doorway, where he leans at ease, surveying Aragorn's body. "I enjoyed you then as much as I did tonight. My training, though I rarely use it for such acts, spares me what you felt." He moves to take the bottle from Aragorn's hand. Pouring the contents on his own fingers, he slides them between my husband's buttocks. Aragorn's brow wrinkles in discomfort, then smoothes. "Better?" Legolas asks.

"Yes."

Legolas' eyes light on the tub with everything laid out. "Do not tell me you have anticipated my desperation for hot water?" He grins at me and I smile back as I towel Aragorn's hair with rough affection. I go to turn on the tap, winking at him through the steam. "Gods, you are the perfect woman for me, Arwen," he says, and Aragorn whacks his backside.

"Leave off," he says, feisty, "how dare you be jealous?" Their grins are wide, and I laugh at their teasing. Legolas begins to strip off his tattered clothing. "Shall I see if these can be mended, or should I simply throw them into the furnace?" he queries wryly.

"Furnace," I reply, as he goes to stand over the drain with a bar of soap. Aragorn lifts the bucket and rinses Legolas. With arms folded, Aragorn watches him lather up, a sly smile playing at his lips. Legolas catches his eye.

"Nay, no more tonight," he laughs through the suds. This time, I pour for him and he strips the dirt and lather from his skin. "I plan a long soak, and you will be fast asleep when I come to bed. Besides," he eyes Aragorn with one brow raised, "you need to heal so that I may molest you again soon." I think that voice may cause my husband an early death.

"Well, then, I shall endeavor to put your charms from my mind for the moment," Aragorn replies, moving to kiss him softly. "I will off to bed, for I have many duties in the morning."

"May Arwen stay?" Legolas asks, as if the answer could possibly be no.

"I could not pry her away," Aragorn replies, before dipping to plunder my mouth for a moment. Then he adds, "Might I even suggest that she join you? You used to while away hours in this bath together. I have never heard elves chatter so."

"I love you," I say, "sleep well." He pads away, turning at the door to wink at me. I return my attention to the tub, adding Legolas' favorite scents to the water. 

Legolas' hands touch my shoulders, tentatively at first, and then firmly, finding the tension there that has built in his absence. "I am sorry, Arwen," he whispers as he presses away the soreness. 

"I know," I reply, "all is well now. You were not yourself when you left. I will not ask you to speak of it. Tell me when you are ready, if ever." 

He kisses behind my ear and his arms come around me. "I am glad to be home," he says, and my heart lifts that he considers this to be his home.

"Love, you are soaking my gown," I protest softly, not that I care, but I have missed the jesting and teasing between us that lightens my serious life as Queen.

He holds fast. "It will not matter in a moment when I sink into that water with you in my arms. He samples the temperature with a toe. "Perfect," he pronounces it. 

"Let me take care of you first. I will join you later." 

"Why should I let you go? You are always taking care of others."

"I enjoy pampering you." He does not let go. "I remember a time once before when you protested. Did not good things come from that tending?" At that, he releases me, though I still feel his reluctance. He steps into the bath, groaning with the ease of the hot water. I bring a chair over, and begin with his feet, but he recoils. "Arwen, you need not serve me so."

"I would let no one else do it. Think what I may learn about your adventures without even asking you," I smile at him, and his eyes glow back at me though he does not speak. 

By the time I have finished with his toes and feet, he has fallen asleep, his head resting in the molded lip of copper, his hair liquid around him. I reposition the chair to work on his hands as they hang over the edge of the tub. Even in the low light, he is luminous. My grandmother has this light, this glow about her. Some tears fall as I allow myself to miss her. 

I note the silvery scars on his inner arms and his chest that disappear into the water. I recognize ritual there, something else about which I will not ask. He barely stirs, though I think I feel him squeeze my hand slightly as I massage his palm.

Finally, I wash his hair, using my sweetest herbs and taking a long time to work through the tangles. When it hangs smooth and free over the edge, I watch the last vessel of water pour through it, a silver spill, and think what a meditation it is on life and loss to touch him this way. Touching Legolas is all that is left to me of touching my family, my kind.

My night clothing is damp through, and I feel a slight chill, though the bath is still hot. I let some water from the tub and add more hot from the tap, blessing the master architects who built this castle with such comforts on hand.

From beside him, I pour healing oil into the water then and onto his skin, beginning to work the muscles of his neck and shoulders and chest. After a time, he catches my wrist without otherwise moving or opening his eyes. "Arwen," he murmurs so quietly, "you are chilled. Come in here where it is warm, and let me rest with your body around me."

I unbutton my clothing and lay it over the chair, reaching to tie my hair higher so it will not be wet. As I turn back, his eyes are on me, shaded but bright. "Beautiful," is all he says, then leans forward and holds out a hand to brace me as I slip in behind him. He sighs as he rests back against me, and my arms and legs wrap around him, my feet tucked over his.

"I feel so safe here, with you," he says, sighing. "On the run, I often dreamt of you holding me as I slept. It was the only comfort I allowed myself." 

My tears start again, though I am careful to let them quietly. Naked against him, I can now believe he is truly here, that he is not an apparition, something of which Aragorn was assured hours earlier. I stroke his stomach, something he enjoys as if he is my pet creature, and I think he sleeps again.

I muse on the power of their meeting, and how difficult it was to leave when I wanted to stay, to watch. Instead, I slipped out and barred the door for them. Without speaking, I kissed Gimli on the forehead and nodded to the beast who lolled with her head against the barn wall purring like an enormous house cat.

By the time I gained our chamber, Legolas had reached for me, and I felt them taking each other. Again, with the memory of it, I feel a flash of heat. The sensation is of Legolas powerful and commanding, yet gentle with Aragorn's fear, then of Aragorn, taking Legolas beyond himself with his own unexpected surrender. I think I will not be sated for a week, remembering their bodies together, their passion. I wish that I could have seen them.

A low chuckle from Legolas startles me. "Arwen, my darling, are you certain you intend to touch me this way?" 

I realize in shock that I have grasped his shaft, solid and thick beneath my fingers. I release him with a start. "No, I did not..."

"I know," he chuckles again. "Nor as we already know could you have roused me had you intended it. It is what you were thinking that reached me in my sleep."

"You could feel that?" Now, I am curious. "But Aragorn is sleeping."

"I wager that his dreams are now of a similar nature, that you have provoked him as well, thinking of us together." He takes my hand. "Why did you leave the stable?"

"I thought you would wish privacy, not a spectator."

"You are never a spectator, you are part of us." He tips his head back on my breast to look at me. "Truly." Then he slides back to a more comfortable position. "It seems that you can form a link among us as well as I can."

"I will have to be more careful, then." I cannot help but smile through the words.

"Mmm. But it is too late for now, I must breathe myself back to composure." But he does not begin the breath yet. He is savoring the feelings again. 

A thought comes to me unbidden and makes me gasp with the wickedness of it. Deliberately, I slide my hand over his stomach and down further until I hold him again, and it is Legolas' turn to startle. I think of the day I came upon Aragorn in our bedchamber, his mouth full of elven flesh. I recall the look of rapture on Legolas' face. His answering feelings travel back to me, surprised at the heat that takes him.

"Do not think of this as my hand, think of it as his." I picture Aragorn's sword hand, more sensitive and skilled than the other, in place of mine. 

Legolas moans deep in his chest and places my other hand to cover his heart, pressing it hard under one of his. I love the feel of him in my grasp, satin and smooth, but so strong, and my mind turns to Aragorn's response earlier this night as Legolas entered him, the fear and the shuddering pleasure moving through us again.

At that, Legolas thrusts against the restraint of my hand, and I feel him throb. In the vision behind my eyelids, Aragorn squeezes gently in answer. "It is delicious," Legolas pants. I can feel that it is so, as Aragorn moans softly from the other room. I begin what I would do for my husband's body, at the same time careful to focus my thoughts on the two of them loving one another. 

It takes the better part of my strength to hold Legolas' body as he arches and thrusts, and though I can see his hardness sliding in my hand, it is Aragorn who touches him in our minds. I slip my other hand from where his heart thunders beneath it and slide it between us, between his buttocks, so that my fingers rub to and fro with his movements. Though he stifles himself when he comes, I know that the pleasure is tremendous as he thrashes in the water and every muscle of his back strains against me. I count ten pulses before he relaxes back against me with a gasp, and I wait two more slow moments before I release him.

"Oh," is all he can say.

"Oh, indeed," Aragorn says raggedly from the doorway. Suddenly, he is there, an arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me from the water with one heart-stopping motion. He lowers me to my feet, entering me from behind at the same time. His hand reaches between my legs as he thrusts into me hard and fast. I have not even had time to think, but I am hot with everything that has happened this night. 

Legolas rises from the tub and steps over to us. He grabs Aragorn by the back of his head and pulls him into a forceful kiss. The room spins as I feel myself let go with a cry that there is no time to stop. Then, Legolas' mouth is on me, swallowing the sound, and Aragorn's release is fast behind mine. 

I keep my eyes closed, a bit shamed by what I have done, then a towel is wrapped around me, and I feel Aragorn withdraw. He lifts me in his arms and carries me to our chamber. Once over the bed, he unrolls me from the towel, flipping me onto the sheets, and then crawls on top of me. 

"Woman," he says, nuzzling at my throat, "you will kill me with pleasure before my time." 

Legolas, slides between the sheets with a luxuriant sigh. "I can think of no bodily need or want that has not been fulfilled this night." His hand finds mine, weaving our fingers together. "That last bit was miraculous as well. It would not have occurred to me to try it."

"I can think of many useful permutations," replies Aragorn, his eyes mischievous in the dim light." He is quiet for a moment, then grins. "You two must help me think of some illness that will not alarm the populous overmuch, that would not make me seem unmanly for lying abed for a day. Soon." He kisses me and eases himself to the other side of Legolas.

"I will think of something," our friend answers, "rest assured." He draws me close, curling around me, his chest hot against my back, legs tangling with mine. Aragorn pulls the blankets over us and wraps his arms around us. Consciousness is already fading.  
*******

I am still awake as Arwen and Aragorn fall asleep. Although I am exhausted, I must savor this moment. I believe that the woman cradled in my arms, her hands clasped over mine, is the closest I will ever have to a female mate. The man nestled to my back draws me to him with bonds I cannot explain. They chose each other long ago, and for that reason, I will live without them both all too soon. 

From time to time, I ask myself why I give my body freely but I give my deepest heart only to mortals--at that, only to mortals who carry some special sorrow. Perhaps in their fleeting nature, for those with insight, the sweetness of love, its ache, its awareness of the inevitable end, is not taken for granted. Every moment for them is bittersweet.

I could not save Frodo, but I could let him go to have a chance to be saved. I cannot save either Aragorn or Arwen, and I must fight a wave of grief and loneliness for the losses to come, before I remind myself to stay in this moment. They are here. I am wrapped in them, at last, after too long apart. And with that filling my heart, I sleep.  
*******


End file.
